


There Could Be Mirrors Involved...

by touchstoneaf



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Could there be Oil involved, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Chosen, Post-Series, TheGirlinQuestion questioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25171021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/touchstoneaf/pseuds/touchstoneaf
Summary: Buffy is holed up in a hotel in Rome, hiding from the Immortal.She is not alone.Things are not what they seem... in more ways than one.Follow us down the rabbit hole, gentle reader, if you will?
Relationships: Angel & Buffy Summers, Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	There Could Be Mirrors Involved...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OffYourBird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OffYourBird/gifts).



> **Story Notes:** This one's bizarre, okay? But it's based on a dream, so it's not my fault.  
>  **Note:** This tale sort of loosely fits into the "Souls In Bondage" series, if you want it to. You'll see why at the end. It doesn't have to, though. It therefore can be considered to include a vague spoiler near the final bits. Or not. That's up to you. (It is also absolutely and completely unnecessary to have read even one jot of that series to appreciate this one-shot.)
> 
> **Formatting Note:** For anyone who’s never read me before, I do a weird thing. Or, at least, it’s weird nowadays. I use an old fanfic convention from long ago because I'm ancient, and we didn't used to have access to italics in the days when I used to fic. Can't break the habit now, I'm just too old and it looks weird for me without it. Character thoughts look like this in my stories: /Blah blah blah./
> 
> **Disclaimer:** All characters property of Joss Whedon, damn his brilliant, confusing soul. And Mutant Enemy. And apparently some people at, I guess, Fox, now? (Who can even keep track anymore. I’m still half-stuck in the WB/CW/UPN confusion.) All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners, yadda and blah. (OCs if any are MINE, ALL MINE!) I am in no way associated with Joss, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox, or any other media franchise. I intend no infringement. I intend sexy shenanigans and JUSTICE FOR SPUFFY!
> 
> **Pairing(s):** Always, Spuffy is endgame. Don’t fear the banner, or the torturous route of this one-shot. It isn’t what it looks like, I swear.
> 
> **Rating:** PG-13 again. I think that makes, like, three PG fics. What is even happening? (Or is it an R for adult language and hinting that sex is happening later off-screen? I'm bad at this stuff.)
> 
> **Author’s Note / Dedication:** This one’s for OffYourBird again, because two years ago (two years already?! I mean, almost!) I was just kickin’ it on Tumblr all by my lonesome, scrolling through my fandom feeds looking at Spuffy gifs, and that girl rescued me and started talking meta with me… and then all the sudden I was having Spuffy dreams. This was one of ‘em. I've been hanging onto it since, avoiding writing it, because some of the premise kind of irritated me, but, well... It turned out to be a damnably important dream, since the dream/fic counts as the first time I ever saw ANYTHING WHATSOEVER from Buffy’s POV. At all. Before OYB I saw everything from Spike’s POV, and had a hard time loving Buffy because of my adoration of our boy. OYB made me really love our heroine and to understand her, and this dream was my breakthrough. Heck, this dream actually even made me get what she saw in ANGEL, for gossakes, which was ugh, but whatever. 
> 
> Anyway, I blogged about said dream on Tumblr, but couldn’t bring myself to write it down in fic-form till recently. Instead I devoted myself to what I thought would be my one and only Spuffy fanwork, "the fic in which she hies her ass to LA and drags Spike home by his ear, tells him what-for for leaving her alone for too long, and they live happily and smuttily ever after". But then I finished that one, and then there was more, and then another fic, and another one, which was all very unprecedented, and then I had to admit this was also a story… and, Dammit. DAMMIT, OYB.
> 
> **Special Thanks To:** beta-extraordinaire Wolf_Shadoe for being the bestest beta in the whole entire universe.

Buffy stood at the window overlooking the ancient Piazza di Santa Francesa Romana, gazing out into the late afternoon light where it drew long shadows from the ruins of the fallen basilica, across the perfectly-trimmed lawn between the broken pillars. 

Across the wide curves of the streets beyond, the massive structure of the Coliseum loomed, broken-backed and startling, like a stony jewel from the crown of yesteryear’s stern glory.

They would be leaving as soon as sunset allowed, of course, but until then, why not enjoy the spectacular view? Even with the best that the ur-Slayer’s travel-stipend could buy, she could never in life have gotten a room this close to that monstrosity. Not that Buffy ever leaned on that seniority to get fancier digs or anything. Mostly in the last year she had gone for, ‘does it have a bed and walls and something to fight to tire me out enough so I can crash without thinking too much?’

Thinking had meant guilt, agony, pain, loss. Not worth it.

This… Well. It was an understatement to call it ‘a nice enough room’ in which to spend a few hours. Compared to her usual fare—hostels, cheap, fleabag hotels with flaking plaster and garbage prints on the walls—this was the lap of luxury. Atrium access, complete with a gorgeous little fountain with ivy and a cherub, if you were the type who could enjoy such a space. Though, it was _mucho_ nice both in the sunlight, and during moonlit hours, so there was that. Complimentary Italian breakfast, which was a damn sight better than maybe a croissant on the way out the door, if she was lucky. Not that she was used to eating much anymore. There was also, no joke, marble countertops and a jacuzzi tub in the bathroom. Considering most of her hotel-room stays of late had included things like peeling shower stalls with low-pressure, trickling flows and a faintly musty smell, or shared hostel baths down long halls filled with the sounds of coughing and rough cursing, one guess where she had spent a lot of her time while she was here. Well, the time she had not spent cuddled up in bed.

And, speaking of bed; this place had insanely high thread-count sheets; which was _tres_ nice. Like getting a little sensual bonus on skin that only ever got rough treatment anymore. Endless fights, bleeding into one another, for a Slayer who sought them out, never-ending; sought the jarring impacts and the fury of battle, because it brought numbness, and a silence of the mind. 

A seriously sweet extra, considering what else she had somehow magically gotten to have in one of those beds in the last twenty-four hours. Or, rather, who.

Angel’s Wolfram and Hart connections apparently made all things possible; like awesome hotel rooms. Which meant, hopefully, they would also manage to keep things quiet when it came to the power-players in the Rome underground. Though, there had been a certain amount of snark flying around the lobby last night about the Italian way of doing business. As in, who knew which side those people were on when it came to their keeping a low profile in this town?

It was tough to tell what Angel thought. He stood in front of her, his broad, naked shoulders half-covering the gauzy embrasure. He was kind of hogging the opening… and really, almost tempting the late, slanting daylight as he stared anxiously out, awaiting night. Buffy might be annoyed at the way he was blocking her view, but she knew he was just worried. Worried that the Immortal might find them, jump to the wrong conclusions. Which… if he did find them, he probably would. Apparently there was history there. Not that it was really any of his business, but they wouldn’t be able to swear it by the guy, considering the circumstances.

Buffy eyed the once-familiar sweep of smooth, bronzed back, the tattoo he had gotten as Angelus, made to mock the god he’d hated. Despite everything, she felt a surge of warm contentment, as always, in knowing he was here. That feeling of old gladness in his presence. She wasn’t sure if that would ever entirely go away. 

Granted, it was tough sometimes to feel it through the odd feedback, these days. Things got in the way; things like the not knowing just what the hell he was up to these days down at that hellish lawyer’s complex, or why he thought he could keep massive, life-altering secrets from her; or what his plans were after this odd little side-trip into the lap of luxury. His plans for LA, and the demon law-firm, and… all of it.

But the connection would always be there.

“I’m kind of uncomfortable with us being over this alley, Buffy,” Angel informed her, still facing outward. “I mean, it’s not that great an area, considering we’re in front of one of the biggest tourist attractions in the city. We’ve got a big population to hide us… but it really is kind of a rotten part of town, and there’s a lot of dangerous stuff happening down there.” A twitch of his broad, gleaming shoulders. “You might get sucked into going down there to help someone, if you see a mugging or whatever, and then we’d get exposed.” 

An unexpected frustration flooded her being; probably leftovers from realizing that he had had her _followed_. /Oh, please. As if I’d be that dumb. What, do you think I’m a child?/ They were in _hiding_ right now. Luxury-hiding, but still, it was hiding nonetheless. The Immortal apparently ran this city, and the jerk thought she had spurned his advances or whatever. He’d have no way of knowing that she wasn’t Mia, the Slayer he’d been dating; a decoy wearing her face. Heck; if the spell could fool vampires familiar with her scent and stuff, then it was _good_. Which meant this guy would have no way of knowing that she wasn’t the chick he’d been squiring around town, showing her a good time on his dime and introducing her to the Roman glitterati. He’d be bound to take offense if she suddenly turned her back on him and waltzed off with a whole different supernatural set. 

Not that that meant Buffy should completely curb everything that she was. And she wasn’t an idiot. She knew how to keep a low profile. She’d been loose in the wilds of Europe for almost a year now. She could handle herself.

But, as usual, Buffy found that her brief annoyance faded swiftly. That was just how Angel was. He always tried to protect her. That was _why_ he had had her followed; because he’d been worried about her. Granted, he probably should have wondered what that might’ve looked like from her perspective, not knowing who those guys were; how terrifying that might be to her. But that was Angel for you. He just did stuff like that with the people he loved. It was occasionally irritating, but it stemmed from the right place.

/I just… Dammit, I have enough enemies these days without thinking I somehow acquired a new and mysterious stalker with unlimited funds. I wish you would’ve thought about that./ 

Sometimes it just felt like there was always something. Always something getting between them, making her relationship with him this uber-frustrating thing; making it difficult, heavy lifting rather than anything easy. /I guess… in a way it’s never been easy. Not that anything worth having isn’t worth hard work, but…/

Well, the thing with her instincts wasn’t going anywhere, and he’d get over it. She did need to do her job. If there were people down there who needed her help, she would do it, and manage somehow to avoid notice. Angel was cute if he thought he could stop her after all these years, and a little naïve if he thought she didn’t know how to cover her tracks by this stage of the game.

She felt him before she saw him, of course; a new set of tinglies to bookend her from the rear. For obvious reasons her body-sense of this second vampire was far more acute, and set her every hair, every cell of her flesh alight and dancing. 

She didn’t have to turn to welcome him, or to let him know how glad she was that he was back. He would know by now, after the scene she’d graced him with when they had first seen each other again outside the airport. 

They both knew; hence a lot of Angel’s residual tension. 

He didn’t speak at first, merely drew closer to stand just inches from her position, to bracket her body with his. Too far by miles, since he wasn’t actually touching her; wasn’t proving to her that he was real. 

He just stood there for a moment, breathing. 

She spent a little time enjoying the full-body shivers his renewed presence invoked. For the record, he too was wearing only his jeans, and it was a good day to be Buffy, scenery-wise. “Oh, bloody hell. Is he on this again?” His voice rumbled just behind her ear in that way that made her knees buckle just a little. “For God’s sake, Peaches,” he went on then, addressing the elder vampire over her shoulder, “will you let the woman do ‘er job?” And then one hand rose, slowly, to cup her right shoulder.

She leaned involuntarily back against his cool chest, her eyes falling closed. 

“You want me to hit him for you, Slayer, or let you do it?” he asked in amused tones, and the hand was now caressing just lightly, up and down her bicep, and, oh, god, it was setting every part of her alight; because he was back, he was _real_ , he was _here_ …

She managed to breathe into some sort of reality of words that even sounded a little bit amused. “Down, boy,” she answered, a little breathily. And alright, part of the joy of him would always be that he never failed to take her part; never talked down to her… and that he was always, without fail, ready to have her back. 

It didn’t hurt how turned on he was by the way she fought. Hell, just by thinking about her going down to start a scrap, and she had the evidence to prove it a hairsbreadth from her flesh. He was practically encouraging her to do it, and feeling him like that again was…

He had been so reticent, in that last year, but that was mostly gone now. He was letting her feel _everything_ , and that was…

Of course, after the way she’d greeted him, it was probably a pretty good indication of how she felt about all of it; from their last night together, to the words she’d said the next day, to exactly how she felt about his long, unexplained absence… much less any option he might think he had to absent himself from her side and her bed, ever again.

He could tell he’d made her happy just now, because he lowered his head a little, pressed his cheek to hers. On his side, the left side, so that she was bracketed between his callused palm and his breath… and she gave up and turned to him. 

It didn’t really matter who started it, but he was kissing her, and she was pulling him in for it, and behind her she swore she could feel Angel’s shoulders tighten at them even though he kept his back turned, but he didn’t even grump at them, much less comment. Which was good, since he really should know better by now, considering the earful he had gotten last night about certain incredibly ill-thought-out decisions he had made in the last year vis a vis keeping certain secrets from her. Specifically, secrets regarding certain members of his family being undusty, the asshole. He pretty much knew anymore that he had zero room to comment if he wanted to keep any real estate at all in her heart anymore, ever again. Even as friends, after _that_ kind of betrayal.

Hopefully his whole tempting sunlight thing over there wasn’t actually him being all moody and Christmas-Angel and attempting to quietly immolate himself to avoid witnessing the continued reunionage, because, despite everything, it had been really good to… reconnect. 

Not as good as reconnecting with Spike, because _guh;_ but nice enough.

“Don’t worry, pet,” Spike informed her as she finally, reluctantly pulled away to locate a few tendrils of oxygen. “The bint in the thousand-dollar pumps might tip off the prat as to our whereabouts, yeah. Might be worth a pretty penny to her; but I ‘magine by the time she does we’ll be long gone.”

Buffy nodded, though most of the gesture was lost in burying her face in his throat, because clinging to Spike, holding onto him; smelling his scent, tasting him, running her hands constantly over his familiar, cool, sculpted body was still a thing if she was going to believe he was real and alive and in her arms. Certainly if she was going to keep him. And she was definitely going to keep him, if she had to burn down the world to do it. “It sounds like she’s a ‘win friends and influence people’ kinda girl.”

“Too right, love.” Spike lifted his chin then, and his voice, to address Angel’s taut back. “Hall’s clear. Best we leave now, I reckon, do we wanna make it to the jet before anyone finds out where we’ve been holed up.”

The silence lasted long enough that Buffy dragged her face out of Spike’s throat to turn slightly and eye the older vampire. Angel better not be backing out now. He had, albeit reluctantly, offered to give them a ride up to her new base in Scotland before he headed back to LA. Granted she could get Spike up there on her own, and would, but it would be faster and easier in a necro-tinted, luxury jet. Was he gonna be a butthead about it at this late date? 

Finally Angel sighed and twitched the curtain closed. “Why don’t you come to LA for a while, Buffy? Just to see what we’re trying to do? I promise, it would surprise you. And then maybe…” He trailed off, sounding reluctant.

Buffy was taken aback. Didn’t he know that she didn’t have time right now for social calls? She had an entire organization to run. He had his life, she had hers, and what _was_ this? Did he think that if he had more time to work on her, he could talk her out of this thing with Spike? Because, just, no. Or did he think that if they just traveled together for a little longer, there might be room for him to wriggle back in and reclaim the top spot in her affections? Maybe shove Spike out, if he just played nice? 

The thought was mildly alluring in that it brought to mind some once-upon-a-time fantasies involving oil and sexy, gleaming bodies and naked wrestling… but it was just that; a purely physical fantasy. It would never fly in real life. And not just because of Angel’s curse. Not that she thought he’d ever get a perfect happy if Spike was also there. And, well… she had learned a few things since they had had their long-ago time together. It might seriously step on any warm-fuzzies Angel might ever get in that department if, A, he noticed some of the very specific events that she had ended up coming to enjoy in bed, and B, that she, ah, probably enjoyed herself far more in said arena with his grandchilde than she ever had with him. Not that she was casting stones or anything, and really, they had just never had room for improvement in that arena, but the reality was, Spike had since come along and improved vastly on her repertoire and awareness of all things carnal, and there really was no going back from that knowledge and self-awareness. So… yeah. 

But anyway, it was a moot point. She knew from some things Spike had let slip in the past that the two guys had probably rolled that way once or twice back in their bad old vamp days, but no way would Spike go for it now, even if she was of a mind, for old times’ sake and to answer a few niggling questions lurking in the back of her mind, to have her cake and eat it too. Not even for the privilege of showing up the old man would her guy go there. However well they might have worked together in LA, there was just too much bad blood between her vampires when it came to her—or, probably, to women in general—and Spike deserved to know that he had all of her. 

Anyway, she didn’t care that much. That niggling question was mostly answered by the present—boy howdy, it was!—and Angel was very much in her past. They had conclusively proven long since that there was always some reason that they could never be, and she had thought he understood that. Her cookies were baked; in the hellmouth, by his grandchilde. End of story. Spike was her present, her future, her everything. 

Which, give the guy credit, William the Bloody here was actually doing an amazingly good job of not-completely-reveling in his unforeseen victory. He’d only really rubbed his grandsire’s face in the reality of things oh, two or three times, tops. Unless you counted wrapping his arms around her at every given opportunity, nuzzling her in front of Angel like a great big, touch-starved cat, and otherwise spending every single waking moment—and most of their sleeping ones—utterly tangled up with her. But you could probably just as easily chalk that up to their year’s separation as anything else, and the relief engendered by her ferociously determined, furious declaration back at the airport, the jerk. 

They had both missed each other like woah. Probably all the being stuck together like Velcro had, like for her, more to do on his part with liberation from loss and the sheer need to prove to himself that they were real than it had to sticking it to the old man. 

Interestingly, in light of all that had happened in the last day, Spike tensed a little at Angel’s words. Which… Huh. “Hey.” She caught his chin, stared into his depthless azure eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. And no matter what, you’re coming with me.”

Cool fingers interlaced with his own, and he answered her without missing a beat. “I know it, Buffy.” And his gaze warmed like summer skies, heating her through. Making her world bright again.

Buffy smiled into the heat of his regard, touched his cheek before turning back to the other man in the room. “I have a lot to do back in Scotland, Angel. I’m sorry. I’ll have to come back and see what you’re up to down there some other time. In the meantime, Spike can fill me in.”

Angel tensed some more, but nodded, his back still turned… and then his shoulders slumped. And did she read defeat there? “I figured.” Sagging wholly, he turned away from the window to head for his rumpled bed and the bag he’d already packed. “You two ready?” His tones sounded so colorless, his features now that study in moody regret she knew so well. Gone was the animation she had seen last night when she had unexpectedly run into them on the tarmac… At least, that was until she had run right past him to leap on Spike and bear him down to the asphalt in a violent, shocked, almost brutal meeting of bodies and shrieked demands, between desperate kisses, to know _how_ he was back, _when_ had he come back, “Ohmygod touch me please are you really here? _Spike!”_

Interesting, considering that Spike was the one who had always had such a massive inferiority complex about her and Angel and all that past stuff—an inferiority complex she had definitely helped along with the constant comparisons, and the kissing her ex in front of him, et cetera—it kind of looked like Angel was feeling more than a little inferior himself when it came to her and his misbegotten scion. Which was… unexpected, considering the way she had always put him first, once upon a time. /Not anymore, though./ Still, it made her wonder if he had kind of guessed, or feared, that she had always had way more fun with Spike than with him, been far more physically connected, and in the end found far more tenderness between them, in that last night, than she had had with Angel even on the night when she had given him her first, lamentable and innocent sexual awakening. 

Her heart pulsed in the fierce grip on her left hand; strong enough for two hearts. /It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. I’m here with _you_. You’re _back_. You’re here _with_ me. And we have the whole world ahead of us./

Free hand on Spike’s sculpted chest while Angel closed the curtains on the city outside, Buffy closed her eyes, dropped her forehead once more to his throat, and dreamed of what that world would be. She was finally free from pain, from loss, from fear.

She felt like she could fly.

Her eyes opened. She found herself staring not at the ceiling of a random hotel in Rome, but at the familiar features of their apartment in San Francisco. Spike was sprawled beside her, one hand cool on her belly, the other under her neck, his fingers trailing over her right shoulder and twitching slightly in sleep, though he was so deeply out that he did not breathe. 

/What…/

What a weird damn dream. 

It was a might-have-been… and what an insane one. So many years had passed since those days when Spike and Angel had just missed her in Italy, and her just barely headed to Scotland to start the new center. So many years since she and Spike had found each other again in LA, and begun this new life together. Why would she dream of this odd alternative reality now? Was it a message of some kind?

It hadn’t felt like a Slayer dream, which was a good thing. It meant she probably didn’t have to tell Spike about it. Even after all these years, she was pretty sure he’d be at least a tiny bit insecure about it, wondering why _now_? /Probably I’m just recycling my issues over what happened with Angel last month, with all that idiotic Twilight crap./ Which was dumb, because one of the main reasons she hadn’t fallen for that garbage was because she was with Spike; and one of the main reasons she was _with_ Spike was because he had always celebrated her as she was and for what she was. Had always wanted to back her up, but never wanted to stand in front of her or get in her way the way Angel had done; both in the dream and in reality. /And why did I never realize back then how irritating that was?/ 

Well, she had been young and dumb, and probably she’d thought it romantic, all that ‘stand in front of you’ and ‘take care of you’, controlling crap. 

/Just one more reason to be with the guy who never saw me as a girl to be protected, but as a woman to be fought beside./

Turning over, she trailed her fingers lightly over Spike’s chest, and smiled at his relaxed and sleeping visage. It was only a little past dawn. He’d probably just turned in an hour or so ago, and it would be rude of her to wake him up and show her appreciation, right?

Not that he ever seemed to mind it when she did that kind of thing. 

Slipping down his body, she set to showing him exactly the reason she was glad she was with him instead.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t seem to mind.

**FIN**


End file.
